


The House of the Rising Sun

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Awkward Kisuke is Awkward, M/M, No Smut, Prostitute!Ichigo, The time travel is not actually addressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: Newly arrived in Karakura with a handful of hollowfied shinigami in tow, Kisuke is right to be a suspicious of the guy that keeps hanging around their house.





	The House of the Rising Sun

 

The man is striking, to say the least, hair the color of kinmokusei and eyes like honey. Kisuke sees him wandering the red light district of the small Human village he and the newly-dubbed Visored have hidden away in, wrapped in a light blue women’s kimono and barefoot.

 

Kisuke would normally just dismiss him as another whore, but Kisuke is nervous, paranoid, even, and while he’s certain he’d remember a man like that from the Seireitei, he can’t help but notice how the man’s eyes always linger on their building as he passes, gaze darting between the windows as he talks with the women loitering on the steps of the house across the street.

 

Besides, he’s too big to be a whore, too muscled and sharp-eyed and unwilling to bend when a client presents himself— at least, Kisuke assumes he is. Kisuke’s usually right about such things.

 

The man hasn’t done anything but watch, and seems content to continue to do nothing, so for now, Kisuke leaves him be. He keeps a close eye, though, just in case, and works on fixing his newly hollowfied allies as best as he can.

 

For now, that’s enough.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Ichigo.”

 

Kisuke doesn’t look up.

 

“I beg your pardon, Shinji-san?”

 

The blond hums around his cigarette, settling into the empty chair beside Kisuke’s desk in a mess of too-long, tangled hair and opiatic clumsiness.

 

“That whore you’re obsessed with,” Shinji says. “His name’s Ichigo.”

 

“Ah.” Kisuke shifts away a few papers, picking up his ink brush to make a small note on one of the scrawl-filled pages. “And where did you learn that, Shinji-san?”

 

“He walked Mashiro home from the market after she was accosted by one of the men who visit our fine district.” Shinji gives him a small smile. “Gave him a black eye for his troubles, too.”

 

“Quite the hero,” Kisuke murmurs, finally looking up. “Mashiro must have been thrilled.”

 

“She squeezed the life out of him and dragged him home for tea.” Shinji snorts. “He’s still downstairs, if you wanna talk to him.”

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

Shinji raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

“Sorry, Kisuke,” he says. “Maybe I’m losing it a little bit, but— running for the window every time a certain pretty guy passes isn’t exactly normal behavior, is it?”

 

Kisuke rolls his eyes.

 

“He could be a _ spy,” _ he says, exasperated. “How many times—”

 

“If he’s a spy, then you definitely should go have a talk with him,” Shinji says, almost bored. “Who knows what sort of information he could be gleaning from Lisa as we speak?”

 

Incredulity duly noted, thanks. Lisa hasn’t said a word since they entered the World of the Living.

 

Sighing to himself, Kisuke drops his brush carelessly onto the desk, pushing himself to his feet with a little groan as his spine unwinds from its hunched position. His hands are covered in ink, but he pays it no mind, running his hands through his coarse blond hair before tugging on the green haori Mashiro had found for him a few months prior. It’s not his favorite thing to wear— he prefers black, always— but he’s not really dressed for company, even the company of a whore.

 

He hears quiet conversation as he and Shinji make their way downstairs, a stranger’s voice chiming in-between Mashiro’s high-pitched giggles and Love’s rumbling words. Kisuke turns the corner, and— there he is, the orange-haired man with wandering eyes, sitting cross-legged on the floor, teacup balanced on one knee as he complains about the ever-rising price of fish.

 

“... I mean, we live on a goddamn island— all we eat is fish,” he says, mouth twisted with irritation. I’m half-certain it’s all a conspiracy to try and get us to eat more Western products. If it tasted good, maybe _ then _ I’d fucking eat it—” he sniffs, which in turn makes Rose hide a small laugh behind his hand— “But half-rotten beef and pork cut with rat droppings? No thanks.”

 

He looks up when he sips his tea, pausing when his eyes find Kisuke. Immediately, something in the room changes, though Kisuke can’t put his finger on what.

 

“Ichigo, this is Urahara Kisuke,” Shinji says, waving a hand in Kisuke’s general direction. “He’s a friend of ours.”

 

An odd look flashes across Ichigo’s face, a cross between knowing and surprise, before the man resettles his expression into a furrowed, half-grimace.

 

“Hello, Urahara-san,” he says, raising his hand. “Nice to finally put a name to the face.”

 

For all that Kisuke’s suspicious, it’s all too easy to slap on an easy, friendly smile.

 

“You say that as if the whole village doesn’t know our names by now,” he says, settling between Lisa and Rose before pouring himself a cup of tea.

 

“You’d be surprised,” Ichigo says, mouth quirking. “Half the old ladies are certain you’re actually demons, come from another world to punish the wicked.”

 

Well, that’s a touch too close to the truth.

 

“And the other half?” Kisuke asks lightly.

 

Ichigo shrugs.

 

“The other half thinks you’re all criminals, escaped from the gallows.” He smiles at that, a strange, secret smile that Kisuke doesn’t have enough information to even begin to pick apart.

 

The man drains his tea quickly after that, setting back on the small tray before rising to his feet in a single, graceful movement.

 

“I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality a little too long, I think,” he says, giving them all an easy smile. “And I’ve got work.”

 

“Of course,” Kensei says, mouth twisted with distaste. Apparently, he’s not a big fan of whoring— but Kisuke could have told Ichigo that months ago, when they first moved here.

 

“See you soon, Ichi-kun!” Mashiro squeaks, launching herself at the man. To his credit, he doesn’t struggle, just taps her back gently with the palm of his hand when he starts to turn purple.

 

He gives them all a final wave, letting Kisuke walk him out before disappearing into the crowded street, melting as easily into the crowd as any Second Division shinigami.

 

“A little sour,” Shinji says, ambling up to stand beside Kisuke. “But his heart’s in the right place, I think.”

 

Kisuke hums, but doesn’t answer.

 

Shinji sighs.

 

“If you’re worried about him, go make friends with him,” he says, leaning back on his heel. “You’re not an idiot— you’ll be able to figure out if something’s off.”

 

“I know something’s off,” Kisuke murmurs, thinking of that initial, strange look he’d gotten when Shinji had introduced him. “I just don’t know what.”

 

“Then find out,” Shinji says. “Just do us a favor and keep it out of the house? The pining thing is really getting on my nerves.”

 

Kisuke feels his cheeks flush at the implication.

 

“I’m not _ pining,”  _ he says, frowning at Shinji. “I’m concerned for your _ safety.” _

 

“Be concerned somewhere else, then,” Shinji says, rolling his eyes. “We’re fine, Kisuke, you know that.”

 

Except that’s a lie, and they both know it. Hiyori hasn’t been up from the basement since Kisuke  _ built _ the damn thing, hollow running wild and destroying whatever it can get its hands on. The others aren’t much better, honestly, standing on a knife’s edge between sanity and their hollows, only comfortable in that space thanks to a steady supply of opium from the den around the corner.

 

He’s not going to say that to Shinji, though.

 

“Fine.” Kisuke sighs, sliding the door shut before turning back to Shinji. “I’ll get out more. Happy?”

 

Shinji gives him a wide, shit-eating grin.

 

“Ecstatic.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Kisuke spends the two weeks days stalking Ichigo. He finds out exactly three things.

 

One, Ichigo lives down the street, in a one room hut that he might have built himself judging by the haphazard shape of the entire structure. It doubles as his workplace, most nights.

 

Two, he likes kids. Kisuke hasn’t seen him raise his voice or his hand to any of the little rats that roam the streets at night, preferring to tweak their noses and send them on their way when they try to pickpocket him.

 

Three, he’s a whore. Actually a whore, rather than playing at being one. Kisuke supposes it was stupid to think otherwise, or to think Sui Feng would send a spy unwilling to play their role to the fullest of their abilities. But still. It’s strange to see the man hanging in the doorway of his little hut, face painted white and hair pulled up in a crude approximation of a lady’s style as he bats his eyes prettily at any man or woman who happens to pass by. He knows how to smooth out his expression, when he wants to, to make himself seem younger than he is as he tugs the collar of his kimono until it gapes open, revealing more golden skin than should be allowed.

 

(Okay, Kisuke has to admit, he’s quite handsome. Toned and tanned, with an easy enough smile when some of the working girls come around to chat or one of the Visored brave a trip down the way to get a little alone time. The sound of his laughter— which Kisuke has only heard twice, in the last fourteen days of observation— is particularly fascinating, rough and low and somehow so gentle… but he’s getting off topic.)

 

Beyond that, Kisuke can’t glean too much from Ichigo’s day to day habits. Besides a weekly trip to the market and his afternoon walks through the village, he mostly spends his time at home, or on the steps of the brothel across the street from the house Kisuke’d found for himself and the Visored. Which is suspicious. Very suspicious.

 

Speaking of suspicious, what’s Lisa doing here? Kisuke leans further around the corner of the alley he’d settled himself in, watching as Lisa slows to a stop in front of Ichigo’s hut. He can’t hear what they’re saying— it’s starting to get late, and the street always gets busier when the sun goes down— but he sees Ichigo laugh and lean further out of his door, the pink kimono he’d chosen for the evening slipping off one shoulder in a movement that looks more natural than it probably is. He watches, an odd feeling building in his chest, as Ichigo hooks a finger in the collar of Lisa’s kimono, pulling her closer, and—

 

And suddenly, he’s in the street.

 

“Lisa-san, fancy meeting you here!”

 

Lisa turns, arching an unimpressed eyebrow at Kisuke as he strides across the street before clicking her tongue and turning back to Ichigo.

 

“Told you,” she says, unhooking Ichigo’s finger from her clothes with a shrug. “He’s weird, but you’ll like him.”

 

Ichigo smiles, amber eyes sparkling as he looks up at Kisuke, who suddenly has forgotten how to talk, cheeks growing hot under his gaze.

 

“I think I do already,” he says, pushing off from where he’s leaning against the doorframe to lope over to Kisuke. “Thanks, Lisa.”

 

“Anytime.” She turns on her heel, giving Kisuke a knowing look as she passes him, heading back to the house.

 

“Urahara-san, why don’t you come inside?” Ichigo asks, drawing his attention once more. His hands are planted on his hips. “I’ll wash my face, and maybe we can have tea. Or something stronger.”

 

“I—” Kisuke swallows. “You’re working tonight, and I don’t mean to intrude—”

 

“I’m not busy,” Ichigo says, tilting his head to one side. “And Shinji-san told me to tell you that he’s got a handle on the house, for tonight. In case you were worried.”

 

Shinji had stopped by earlier today, damn him. Damn them all.

 

“I suppose…” Kisuke shifts awkwardly. He hadn’t exactly planned for this, after all. “Maybe one drink?”

 

Ichigo lets out a little laugh.

 

“Geez, you’re really awkward, Urahara-san,” he says, shaking his head almost fondly. He reaches out to pat his cheek. “Don’t worry, though. We can work on that.”

 

Kisuke’s cheek burns even after Ichigo’s hand drops, reaching to find his hand instead.

 

“C’mon,” he says, tugging him towards the house. “We’ve got lots of things to talk about.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then, rather than having sex like we all want them to, Ichigo casually informs Kisuke that he accidentally time-travelled from the future and would like to help him fix the Visored.
> 
> They probably don't even make out until the Visored start getting a handle on things, honestly, but after that?
> 
> It's Fuck City.


End file.
